


Follow

by mercuriosity



Category: Pet Shop of Horrors
Genre: M/M, Yuletide 2005
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2005-12-25
Updated: 2005-12-25
Packaged: 2017-10-06 07:55:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,021
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/51416
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mercuriosity/pseuds/mercuriosity
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The point of no return. What happened after the end. (Spoilers for the entire first manga series.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Follow

**Author's Note:**

  * For [louise_lux](https://archiveofourown.org/users/louise_lux/gifts).



Leon had known D for two years, and in that time he'd seen so many things he'd never expected to see, ever, that the flying ship almost didn't faze him.

Almost.

D, naturally, looked perfectly at home standing at the prow, gazing down at the clouds and surrounded on all sides by impossibility. Seeing him there, looking as calm as if nothing had just happened, Leon's heart sped up and his stomach gave a funny lurch--but maybe it was just the motion of the ship.

"Well, Count," he said, "where're we going?"

Two years of chasing, and in the end he didn't know if he'd caught anything--or if he'd caught more than he'd bargained for. Ever since that first meeting, Leon had found the boundaries of his world pushed wider and wider, his idea of what was possible continually expanded--while at the same time, his focus had narrowed, until everything, all of it, was about D. D had gotten under his skin somehow, so that Leon couldn't leave him alone. He thought about D when he woke up in the morning, and he thought about D when he went to bed at night. There was a name for that feeling, Leon realized with sudden clarity. They called that being in love.

Of course, that was when D pushed him off the boat.

\---

After he got out of the hospital, Leon threw himself into his work. No one talked about the sudden drop in bizarre cases involving animals, but it didn't matter anyway--there were always plenty of crimes perpetrated by humans, especially in L.A. Leon started taking all the worst cases, the gruesome homicides that even veterans shuddered at.

The chief said no, at first, when he asked. But Leon looked him in the eye and said, "Please," and maybe the chief saw something there, saw that Leon needed something, because he let him have the cases.

Leon didn't even know what he wanted, exactly--to prove to someone who wasn't there that Yes, he knew what humans did to each other, and Yes, he could handle it?--but he kept it together and somehow managed to avoid landing in the hospital or the shrink's office, so after awhile people stopped giving him worried looks and just let him do his job.

He had dreams about falling--clouds whipping past him for miles and miles, impossible distances, and no matter how far he fell he could still see D's perfect pale face above him. Sometimes D was laughing, sometimes crying; sometimes neither, staring down with all the cold impassivity of a statue.

He would wake up, never soon enough, and put his hands over his face to hide the wetness in his eyes from no one in particular.

Other nights he dreamed about D underneath him, or above him, or up against the wall; pupils dilated and skin flushed and gorgeous--every possible permutation, all the ways it didn't happen between them. All the things he never let himself think about before, now that there was no way they could get him in trouble. He dreamed about taking the teacup out of D's hands and pressing him down onto the couch, putting his hands in D's hair, sliding a chocolate into D's mouth with his tongue.

Those nights, he'd wake up painfully hard, and jerk himself roughly one, two, _three_ times, and, _ah_, that would be it--he was over the edge and falling all over again.

\---

It had been a year by the time he realized he wasn't going to forget about D.

It was a Friday, the end of a long, grim week. He was taking care of some paperwork towards the end of the day, and people were filing out of the station, turning the lights off behind them.

"Hey, Leon," Jill said, leaning against the doorframe. "Some of us are going for a drink, you want to come?"

Leon frowned down at Section 3, line 6a, and reached for the white-out. "You guys go ahead," he said. "I'm gonna finish up here."

Jill was silent for a moment. Then she said, "Leon, you can't keep doing this."

Leon looked up. "Doing what?"

Jill crossed her arms, the corners of her mouth turning down. "You're going to finish up here, and then you're going to go back to your apartment, aren't you?" she said. "Alone? Not that there's anything wrong with that, except that it's what you've done _every night_, for a year now, Leon. Ever since--"

She stopped, looking vaguely guilty, like she'd accidentally let a secret slip out. Leon said nothing.

"... Ever since D left," she finished, more quietly.

"So?" Leon said, some protective reflex stepping in and he knew he sounded like an asshole, but he didn't know what to say, he didn't know how to _talk_ about this. "I don't see why you should care how I spend my time."

And he could see that made her angry, gave her the fuel to keep going: "Maybe I _shouldn't_," she snapped. "But no one around here can help noticing the way you mope around these days, and frankly, most of us would rather not have to see it. You're a great cop, Leon, and you work your ass off, but you're not happy. You can't move on. And you know why? You're hurt, which is probably more than you can admit to yourself. And what's more, the detective in you is pissed off that you let the greatest mystery of your life get away from you. You can keep lying to yourself, Leon, maybe forever, but you're not fooling anyone else. Do what you need to do. But you have to do _something_."

And she turned and stormed out of the room, leaving Leon staring down at the paperwork on his desk, white paper covered in black dots and lines that didn't seem to mean anything anymore.

Goddammit, Jill was right _again_.

\---

He called his aunt and uncle and Chris, listened to Chris chatter excitedly about school and the other kids in the neighborhood. Now that he was talking, the only hard part was getting a word in edgewise--so when Chris paused to take a breath, Leon said, "I'm leaving. I quit my job and I'm going after D," which just sent Chris off again in a different direction.

"You should find him and bring him back," he said. "He always let me have cake, we never have any here. We mostly have fruit, Sis says it's good for me, but I think it's boring---"

His aunt and uncle thought he was crazy, of course. Couldn't be helped; and now that they were taking care of Chris again, it was no one else's concern if he decided to leave everything behind and go off on a wild goose chase.

"But Leon," his aunt said, "where are you going to go?"

"I don't know," he said. "But I'll visit every Chinatown in the world if I have to."

Two days after the phone call, he was in a corner store for a pack of cigarettes, still thinking about his aunt's question, drawing up possible itineraries in his head. He had a little money saved up, but not a lot; he had some friends in other cities he could probably stay with for a little bit, if he started his search in the U.S. Maybe he could sell his car.

The cashier handed him his change, and as he turned to go, something caught his eye. A tabloid, sitting in the magazine rack next to the counter.

"Man mauled by vicious goat-creature!" it read, and then, in smaller print: "'It had a human face!' man says."

As if in a dream, Leon reached out and picked up a copy of the magazine; he flipped to the story, skimming for the details. _Antwerp, Belgium_, it said. _Vicious animal attack. Man claims to have seen mythological creature. Mysterious pet shop._

He read it over again, three times, to make sure his eyes weren't playing tricks on him. Maybe he _had_ gone crazy, after all. But the text of the article stayed the same. _Antwerp, Belgium._

_Gotcha_, he thought.

He paid for the magazine, tucked it under his arm, where he still felt the lack of a gun holster. He left the store; it looked like his European vacation was going to come a little sooner than expected.

\---

Fourteen hours and three airline entreés after he got on the plane, he stumbled off, testing his legs uncertainly.

"Welcome to Brussels Airport," an invisible female voice said. "Bienvenue à l'aéroport de Bruxelles. Welkom op Luchthaven Brussels. Willkommen--"

He got a taxi to take him from Brussels to Antwerp. "Chinatown?" he asked, grateful that people mostly seemed to understand English. Antwerp's Chinatown was centered around some street called Van Wesenbekestraat, a place he could neither pronounce nor spell.

It wasn't a short ride; he felt himself starting to nod off after a while.

"We're almost there," the cab driver said.

"Great," Leon said, and then sat straight up, fumbling for his seatbelt. "Wait. Can we stop there? Please. I'll just be a minute."

Across the street, a sign read: Del Rey Chocolaterie Patisserie. The driver pulled to a halt, double-parked alongside a beat-up green car that looked about a hundred years old. Leon leapt out of the back seat and ran into the store. Before long he came jogging back, holding a slim white box.

"Right," he said, climbing back in. "Thanks."

A few minutes later, the taxi driver deposited him in front of a familiar-looking door. It was almost surreal, seeing the exact same sign, the exact same door. He could almost imagine he hadn't just crossed an ocean--but this Chinatown wasn't so much a town as a street, for one thing. And beyond that street it was nothing like home at all.

Leon tried not to think about the fact that he was standing in front of the door with a box of chocolates and trying to psyche himself up; it was all a little too much like his senior prom. He wiped his hands on his pants one more time and knocked.

"Sorry, we're closed." And God, he'd had no way of knowing what hearing that voice would do to him--the relief and adrenaline that coursed through his body, making his knees feel weak.

Still, his voice was surprisingly steady as he said, "Open up, D."

He could almost feel the silence that fell on the other side of the door. A moment later, he heard the sliding sound of the deadbolt, and the door opened slowly. D was standing there, as pale and perfect as ever, with an indecipherable look on his face.

"Detective," he said, sounding almost breathless.

"Not anymore, D. I turned in my badge." He leaned against the doorframe, looking more casual than he felt. "I guess you'll just have to call me Leon."

"Yes," said D. "Of course." And then he didn't say anything more, just stood there, one hand still on the door, until Leon didn't know if he was going to start crying, or _what_.

And it was nice to know he wasn't the only one who didn't know what to do here, but they weren't going to get anywhere standing in the doorway staring at each other, so he thrust the box of chocolates out in front of him.

"You know," he said conversationally, "I could really go for a cup of tea."

One corner of D's mouth twitched upward at that, which Leon figured was a good sign.

"Please. Come in, De-- Leon. I was just about to make some."

Surreal wasn't the least of it, sitting on the couch while D fussed with tea things and the smell of incense filled the air. It was probably even the same couch. He watched the tense line of D's back. Everything was the same--and nothing was the same.

D brought two cups over, set them down on the table. He sat down.

"Thank you for the chocolates," he said, not looking at Leon.

"You're welcome," Leon said. Then, "Actually, the chocolates are kind of secondary. I have something else to give you."

At this, D did look up. "Oh?"

Leon went to his bag and took out the picture they'd found in D's suitcase: D, Chris, and himself all together, happy (more or less)--a little boy's hopeful scribble. He'd had it framed. He handed it across the table.

D took it. His hands were trembling.

"Thank you," he said again after a moment. His head was bowed over the picture, hair obscuring his face, but Leon didn't need to see his eyes to hear the painful sincerity in his voice.

"I thought you'd like to have it back," he said. He took a sip of his tea and looked at D looking at the picture.

D raised his head, finally, and he was smiling, fragile but sweet.

"I think there's some room for it on that wall there," he said.

"Great," said Leon. "I'll hang it up for you, if you want." He was caught off-guard then by a yawn so huge his jaw cracked.

"Huh," he said. "Guess that fourteen-hour flight tired me out more than I thought. Do you mind if I crash on your couch for a bit?"

D smiled again, which was a lot better than that shocked, uncertain look he'd had when he opened the door. "Not at all," he said.

"Cool," Leon said, and then he put his head down on one end of the couch and was out like a light, seeing colorful crayon shapes on the back of his eyelids.

\---

When he woke up, the lights were down low and D was sitting at the far end of the couch, watching him. Leon sat up, stretching, saw the faint gleam of eyes following his movement.

"Hey," he said, his voice low and rough with sleep.

"Hello," said D. They were talking in near-whispers as if it really were nighttime, as if there were anyone to be disturbed besides the pets. "How do you feel?"

"I'm good," Leon said. And then, because D looked like he might be about to stand up, and because it was somehow easier in the semi-dark, he slid down so they were sitting side-to-side, almost touching, and took one of D's hands in his.

"It really hurt," he said. "When you left."

D wasn't looking at him anymore, but down, at where their hands were joined.

"I know," he said.

There didn't seem to be much more for them to say to each other. Leon felt like everything up until then had been talking, a constant stream of words to drown out meaning. Now he sat surrounded by silence, holding D's hand; it was as if, for the first time, he could hear himself.

He lifted D's hand to his lips and pressed a kiss there. D's breath was audible in the quiet room.

"Please." He whispered it against D's knuckles. "No more running."

D's hand tightened its grip, which Leon took as agreement. He leaned forward, and D let out a sigh, and they were finally, _finally_, kissing.

It was even better than he'd let himself imagine. He hadn't known D would kiss with so little reserve, wild and sweet; he couldn't have predicted how much better those perfect lips would be not curved in a smirk or pressed together in a hard line. Leon touched just the tip of his tongue to D's lips and D opened his mouth with no hesitation at all, like he'd been waiting for it; like maybe he'd been thinking about this too.

And, God, no matter how cool or indifferent D sometimes appeared on the outside, his mouth was hot and wet and decadent, like a mid-afternoon thunderstorm, a tropical jungle, soaked to the skin and dizzy with heat, steam rising off your clothes. Leon slid his hands down along D's sides to rest on his hips, which made D shudder and fist his hands more tightly in Leon's shirt.

He hadn't felt this wound-up and breathless just from kissing since high school, when everything had been exploratory and exciting. He kissed the corner of D's mouth, the curve of his ear, his neck, while D gently tugged his shirt out from the waistband of his pants.

Then Leon's lips bumped against the high collar of D's robe and he whispered "Can I--" against D's neck, grasping the first hook between his thumb and forefinger; and D said, "Yes. Yes," placing his hand on top of Leon's and tangling their fingers together. There was some untying and Leon pulled his own shirt over his head, and finally they were pressed up against each other skin to skin, amazingly good even though it wasn't nearly enough.

D scratched his nails lightly down Leon's chest, and Leon groaned. "God," he said. "D," and hooked his thumbs in the waistband of D's pants (silk in contrast with his own rough denim)--but D grabbed his wrists, stopped him before he could slide his hands down.

"What," he said, trying to breathe, trying to _think_. "D, what--"

D seemed at least as out of breath as he was, which was gratifying, but he tightened his grip on Leon's wrists. Leon felt the dark like a palpable thing between them, waiting.

"I'm not like you," D said, eyes and voice low.

And maybe it was a measure of how much had changed in the past year that all Leon could do was laugh, giddy with relief and the feeling of freedom, which made D look up at him again, eyes wide. Seriously, that was _it_?

"D," he said, and he couldn't help his smile, "I know you don't give me a lot of credit in the brains department, but somewhere between following you into a prehistoric jungle and watching you fly away on a magic ship, I think I figured that out."

And D still looked a little surprised--it hurt to see that uncertain expression on his face--but one corner of his lips turned up, slowly. Leon leaned forward to kiss that corner, whispering "Come on" and spreading his fingers as wide as he could on D's hips.

D didn't let go, but his grip relaxed and he sighed into Leon's mouth, and then he took one of Leon's hands in his own and slid them down together, down past the waistband, showing him with the pressure of his fingers where and how to touch. Leon couldn't see what he was doing, only feel--he felt flooded with sensation, overwhelmed.

D guided his hand along the curve of his erection, the round weight of his testicles, familiar and strange at the same time. And then D didn't stop, guided his hand further back, and behind that--something not hard, but soft and yielding, warm and _wet_\--and Leon heard a quiet gasp, a quick inhalation of breath, and didn't know if it was from him or D or both of them.

"Oh, _wow_," he said.

D's face was flushed, but he didn't look down. Leon thought about distances, all the miles between home and where he was now, and he slid his fingers back and forth, just once, rubbing against the folds of D's-- of his--

"God," he whispered, urgent, feeling D shiver against him. "I want to see you. Let me see you."

D kissed him, gently pulled his slick hand away. The pants slithered down, past his hips, onto the floor; D sat back and let his legs fall apart slightly, waiting. Leon couldn't have dreamed it up himself, but there it was, all elegantly arranged on D's body, perfect like the rest of him.

"Wow," he said again, and then: "Come here," pulling D to sit facing him, straddling his thighs. He grinned, which made D arch one eyebrow at him.

"What's so funny?" he asked, fingers working at the button of Leon's jeans.

"I was just thinking," Leon said, laughing breathlessly, distracted by the feeling of D's hands. "You're like the model of the future. Compact. All-in-one."

And D smiled back at him, which was great, but then Leon stopped laughing because D was tugging his zipper down and lifting his cock out of his pants, and he had to squeeze his eyes shut and will himself not to lose it right there.

"D," he gasped, the words suddenly pouring out like a confession. "I've missed you-- Wanted you--"

"Leon," D whispered fervently, hovering just above him. "Leon, look at me." Leon opened his eyes to see D looking at him so intensely he imagined he could feel it on his skin. "Not a day has gone by that I haven't--thought of you--" and then he was lifting himself up, thighs trembling with the effort, and sitting all--the way--down, arching his back and giving one low, heartfelt moan, until Leon's cock was entirely surrounded by hothottight_wet_.

Neither of them moved right away, just sat, the sound of their harsh breaths filling the air. Leon gripped D's hips tightly--"Okay?" he said--and D shifted forward, breath hitching. Leon thrust up reflexively; he couldn't get much leverage in this position, but he didn't need to. D was grinding his hips down, panting, and running his hands up Leon's back, over his shoulders, down his arms; touching him everywhere. Leon pressed open-mouthed kisses to D's face, his neck, and held on.

D lifted himself up and slid back down one more time, his head falling forward, burying his face in Leon's neck. Leon felt his breath in hot, rapid gusts. He snaked a hand in between them and wrapped it around D's cock; and D gave one last downward thrust and cried out as he came, all over Leon's hand and stomach. Leon shuddered and bit down on his own lip, hard. "D," he said. "D--"

"Keep going," D said, and he was moving again, more slowly now, twining his arms behind Leon's neck. Leon leaned forward, panting. D was wrapped around him, vine-like, holding him so tightly they felt like one being. Leon was close now, every shallow thrust sending him higher--and then D closed his eyes and it was like he was coming _again_, squeezing down involuntarily and shaking; and Leon finally let go and spilled himself inside D, vision going dark and starry.

Afterwards, they stretched out on the couch together, D's head tucked against Leon's shoulder, Leon running his fingers through D's hair over and over.

"We'll go anywhere you want," he whispered. "We can stay here, go back to the states; travel the world. Whatever you want. Just stay with me."

D's hand found his in the dark and squeezed; Leon could still feel the pressure of his fingers as he fell into sleep.

\---

He woke up feeling disoriented, muscles cramped from sleeping on the narrow couch. It was dark outside; a glance at the clock on the wall told him it was a little after midnight. He shifted experimentally, and D stirred and opened his eyes slowly.

"Hey," Leon said softly. "Just need to get up for a bit." D stretched sleepily, then moved so Leon could stand up.

Leon followed D's directions to the bathroom. He found a couple of washcloths, got them wet. When he came back, D was sitting up, still naked, and opening the box of chocolates that had been set on the coffee table.

"Now I know why you came to Belgium, of all places," Leon said.

D smiled up at him. "They also have a marvelous zoo," he said. "Though I admit it pains me to see such majestic creatures behind bars."

He slid a chocolate past his lips, and Leon felt his own mouth water. His heart was doing that flip-flopping thing again.

"How are they?" he said.

D reached up, smiling, and pressed a piece of chocolate into Leon's mouth. Then he pulled Leon's head down and whispered it against his lips:

"Delicious."


End file.
